Robin Goodfellow Alphabet Thingie
by pitseleh
Summary: Each chapter is a drabble prompted by one word chosen from a letter of the alphabet, all focusing on Robin Goodfellow. Unfinished, veeery Rob/Ish-y because I remain unable to write anything else.
1. Erasure

As the profile said, this is all a prompted fic challenge that remains unfinished because I? Am soo lazy. But what I got done before the laziness inevitably settled in is here. The first prompt was from the letter E, word: **_Erasure_**; of course, centering around Robin Goodfellow.

Because the word revolves around Robin, just ask him, he'll tell you.

•

**Erasure**-  
_In mathematical logic, a logical system has the erasure property if and only if no subset of the propositions can be added to another subset of the propositions to refute a consequence.  
For instance, if proposition A means "the store is open from 8:00 to 22:00" and proposition B means "except Tuesdays", the system AB does NOT have erasure._

•

Sometimes, Robin wondered how the Peri'd gotten his number, but after a while he realized that he'd given the thing to so many others, it wasn't really too shocking that it'd eventually fallen into enemy hands. Close to enemy, anyway. More like Switzerland, really, but more annoying.

"Ishiah, I'm in a rare bout of good temper; I'll give you four words to explainwhy I shouldn't simply hang up on you instead of the usual: none."

"And I'm sure ballads will be written of your generosity forever after." Ishiah ignored Robin's threats, as usual. He sounded tired, "Now, extend me a fraction of the patience I've lavished upon you for the centuries."

Robin was about to point out that it wasn't _patience_, but infantile obsession. Understandable, yes, but one must eventually learn when 'no' means 'stop stalking me'. Sadly, Robin's charming and elucidating words were cut off by the molting bastard. He thought about hanging up, but... No. Not _yet_.

"Why were you mucking about in that troll's lair last night?"

"You knew about that? Tch. Typical." It wasn't that surprising, though. The bastard worked in a bar, and news of _Robin's_ exploits did get around.

"Yes, I knew about that. I've only been watching your idiotic behavior for centuries, now, it shouldn't come as so much of a _surprise_."

Though, really, the surprise was why Ishiah hadn't come and _helped_ him when he'd needed it. That Auphe bastard had used him as a distraction, where was Ishiah? Making someone a drink.

Not that he _liked_ the stalking, of course, but if something's going to be as annoying as angel cakes riding on his tail for the span of several civilizations, it might as well have its perks.

Anyway, all attention is good attention.

"Now. Tell me." Yes, yes, Ishiah sounded angry and weary and _tired_.

Robin preened. "Which 'why'? Why am I so magnificent? Why are you calling me? Why do you persist in _bothering_ me? Why-"

"Why would you do something so _stupid_, Robin?" Angry and weary and tired and... something else. Robin couldn't place it. He didn't want to, it seemed kind of irrelevant. If Ishiah's nose was actually _wanted_ poking in his business, maybe he'd give a dirty handkerchief, but as things stood? No way in Hades. He could deal with his own problems until he left Robin to deal with his. _Alone_.

But Robin'd let none of those emotions leak into his voice if he could help it. He shrugged, "A good idea at the time. You know. I'm fine now, of course, don't lay an egg."

"You _idiot_-" And there was a familiar one, disappointment. But still, Ishiah's voice was tinged with something Robin couldn't place. What was it, now? Robin kept listening. The Peri kept talking, "Just- are you just _bored_ or have you finally become suicidal? I can't always-" But Ishiah didn't say anymore, and Robin could hear the steady breathing, an attempt at calm, and imagined he could hear the wings folding back and disappearing again. There was a last, bitter sigh, and Robin could place that odd emotion, suddenly, and it chilled him. "And there I thought-..." But he broke off, and silence settled in.

And Robin felt like the world had just changed its shape. What was that emotion?

_Surprise_.

He'd _surprised_ Ishiah? What had he done? What could he possibly do, after all these years, to _surprise_ that _Ishiah_?

And, was it a good surprise?

...Not that it mattered to Robin, of course. But he's check, just in case. It _was_ in his interests.

"You thought...? Really, if you're going to waste my time, you might as well do me at _least_ the courtesy of completing your sentences."

Robin heard a huff from the other end of the line. Yes. Surprised. Ishiah sounded surprised. "I had _thought_ you may have at least had a good reason for going. They're whispering about humans, Robin, I thought the matter might have concerned them." A lengthy pause was provided. It bridged the gulf of Ishiah's audible disappointment, and Robin felt that and took it 

for his own; knowing he could destroy someone's confidence in him was good, it meant he didn't _care_ about that someone. Ishiah continued on when Robin didn't fill the gap with his own words, however. "But, no, of course not, you were just... What _did_ you do to them, Robin, what new low have you steeped to?"

Because this disappointment sounded like a challenge, though, Robin bit back, "I _helped_ them like the good Samaritan I am. Without me, they'd be dead." Take _that_ for surprise, you winged idiot.

And the silence over the phone, the much more obvious shock, was a good answer, if short lived.

Ishiah started again, but Robin knew his attack had hit home.

"You're lying." Over the phone, Robin could hear Ishiah's sigh, "But it's a nice lie. You're not an erasure, but you like to pretend to be, why should now be different?"

"No. I am. No exceptions. I don't need people, I don't need to be close to people, especially people like _you_," Robin added insult to injury; always fun, "no exceptions. That's an erasure."

Ishiah sounded... different, again. It was the surprise; Robin just wasn't used to it. "Then why did you help them, if your 'no helping' rule is an erasure?"

"Boredom." Robin provided a long yawn over the phone.

There was another substantial pause from Ishiah's end, and Robin realized he was thinking things out. Deciding if he was going to believe Robin or not. Finally, he said, "Of course, you felt need to risk life and limb with a troll because you were bored. Why didn't I think of it sooner?" Another huff, "Do you even know who these people are? Are they _safe_?"

Robin clicked his tongue, ignoring the hurt in Ishiah's voice. At least, it sounded like hurt. Robin _wanted_ it to be hurt. He was used to that. "Ishiah, my not having a mother isn't an invitation for you to take up that office, hmm? Now go fly into a plane engine."

"My position in your life is hardly matronly, or I would've disowned you long ago." Ishiah's voice didn't waver, now; it'd found some sort of new confidence. "So you'll risk your life for strangers? I'll find out who they are no matter what you do, but it'd make my life easier if you'd tell me their names."

"You're free to learn their names all by your lonesome; I'm hardly going to assist you in _stalking_ me. Of course, seeing as I'm never going to see the two of them again, it doesn't really matter 

either way, now, does it?" Robin slumped back into the (empty) bed he'd been sleeping in before Ishiah had called him. Really, what was it with birds and waking up before noon?

"...Really, Robin. Tell me you didn't kill them." Though the complete flatness of his voice told Robin that he wouldn't be surprised if Robin _had_.

And that caused an emotion rarely surfaced in Robin Goodfellow: Vaguely righteous indignation.

"No, I helped them. I risked my _life_ for them. I put myself out on the line for them. I've known them for hardly a week, and I've already done more for them then I've _ever_ done for _you_."

Robin wasn't sure if that was true or not, he couldn't remember all of the finer details of his and Ishiah's relationship and past history, but the sharp intake of breath from the other end of side of the phone conversation showed he had hit _some_ kind of nerve.

Good.

"That's your choice. It's always your choice."

What did _that_ mean?

But he didn't get to find out. Ishiah hung up, and Robin lay down in his bed and felt tired and satisfied and successful and cruel.

He had an erasure-- a rule without any way around it: Don't get close to people.

No exceptions.


	2. Horoscope

The letter H, the word: **_Horoscope_**. I have this terrible habit of excluding proper nouns for stylistic purposes, but just _guess_ who he's talking to.

•

They sat under the stars.

"Which one are you?"

He gave a blank look, but, when there was no answer, Robin provided words upon remembering how dark it was, on that grassy hill in Rome. Why had he ever forgotten?

"Capricorn, you flighty idiot."

"Flighty idiot?"

"It's late; give me a few hours sleep and I'll give you some better insults." He took a deep drink from the wine at his side before continuing, "Yes. Capricorn. Capri. Goat."

"I'll overlook the fact that you seem to have classified the reason for your _current_ incompetence incorrectly. Capricorns, aren't they supposed to be... competent? Reserved? _Cautious_?"

In response, Robin curled up into a ball and lay down on his side. The night wasn't looking to go anywhere interesting, and he _was_ so tired-

And then he was _kicked_.

"Bastard-! This silk is the work of forty virgins slaving over-"

"Which is why you were about to sleep in it on a hill."

"There's a difference between clean grass and the _bottom of your shoe_."

"I don't intend to let you sleep, Robin,"

And Robin didn't have an answer to that.

The silence stretched on.

They sat under the stars.

The silence felt like rejection and being ignored, so Robin did with it what he did with most things he didn't approve of; he broke it.

"I don't have a date of birth, horoscopes have never much bothered me. The calendar wasn't yet invented when the world had been humbled by my being brought into existence."

"Hm?"

"Thus, a goat." Robin's smile was smug, if unseen, and he took another drink of wine.

And another silence.

And then, an answer.

"Capricorn is a sea-goat, you're aware."

Robin groaned and sneered, and swore he could hear the subtle, inward grin spreading on the face next to him. Bastard.

"...And what would this all make you, the rooster?"

"Wrong zodiac, you insufferable bastard." Robin's hand, slowly creeping across the distance between them, was swatted away; Robin snapped it back and nursed the injury, making as much noise as possible to properly get across his indignation in the dark.

"...Virgo, isn't it." And Robin could hear the _glare_, too.

"No." There was a huff, and Robin swore he could hear ruffling? _Ah_. "Cancer."

"Now, _that's_ a water sign if I ever-"

"I actually have a birth date, Robin."

A pause. This one had a _people_, too.

To ward off saying something he feared he would regret (for once), he answered with something he'd regret less. "This is Rome. I'm Faunus."

"Ah, yes," In that voice, Robin could hear the sarcasm, and the disappointment, and something else, faint, that he felt he could've recognized if he wasn't so dizzy. Must be the wine. "Do forgive me for forgetting when and where and how you were worshiped."

"_Were_?" Robin smiled deeply, "_Am_ being worshiped. Just like always." He yawned and laid back in the grass, his hands cradling his head, smelling the grass that wasn't quite clean as it'd once been. He heard a huff, a sign that the patience Robin'd been afforded for the night was running low. His companion had wanted to say something, from the beginning, and Robin was pretty sure he knew what that was. And Robin didn't want to hear it. He mocked the subtly. "But why are you asking me about horoscopes? Hm? Curious about my _sign_? We don't match up, we never have, we don't even apply to the systems they 

make to relate which _star_ we're under. As far as I'm concerned, I'm all of them... they should be so lucky."

But he just heard another exhalation, and the sounds of standing, sighing, that was the end of his stipend of patience for tonight, wasn't it? Robin got comfortable in the grass, trying again to sleep. He was pretty sure he wasn't going to be kicked while he was down, at least not metaphorically.

But just before he drifted off, "The last time we had any kind of conversation, you pointed out that I always had to have the last word. Because I detest proving you right, I leave the floor open for you; you've proved my point well enough without me having to voice it." And Robin heard the sounds to indicate that he was now alone on The Quirinal.

Robin's eyes fluttered to shut, and slowly, finally, the edges of his consciousness blurred into sleep.

And he wasn't _kicked_ again, this time, rolled over. Just wouldn't let him sleep, hm? He signed and thanked Zeus for the dark masking his grin at the thought.

"I was right."

"Shut up."

"Alright, alright." Robin yawned and sprawled out on The Quirinal's southmost face and lazily smiled up at him. "You can have the last word. Go. I'm tied, talk and then leave me alone, hmm?"

Robin heard a faint curse muttered under impatient breath, and then, "The point is, you're terrible at mourning. Really? Getting drunk on a hill, Robin? It's the anniversary, I'm aware, but for someone who experiences loss so-"

"Stop." Robin couldn't take the next part. '_So often_.'

"Then you know it already. And I'm tired of watching you go running off inebriated into the hills whenever you manage to remember the date of someone's death, and then having to distract you so you don't do something stupid, or better, this time, you manage to fall down the side of The Viminal and get a concussion. Do you know what would happen if you fell asleep, you suicidal bastard?"

But Robin was having trouble keeping track of the words, and the dizziness persisted. "Alright, are you done now? Go away."

Robin heard a tsk coming from the air above him, and arms and hands, self-assured and lacking in any gentleness or tact, lifted him up.

"Come on. We're going home."  


"I assure you that wherever my home is, it isn't with you." Robin sneered, and he was just a little afraid when he heard laughter precipitate the response.

"Robin, you can't even remember where your home _is_, right now. I'd be shocked if you could even recall my name."

These words, too, Robin had trouble keeping track of, and he lost them in the weight of how heavy the world was, and how tired he felt because of it. Still, arms kept him up and carried him, to where he wasn't sure.

Maybe home.

Through the haze, he answered an old, dead question. He didn't feel any better, afterwards, which he realized was what he'd been expecting, and so he didn't clarify.

"Sagittarius."

"Hm?"

"Nothing."

But, occasionally, clarification wasn't required.

"Sagittarius... fits."

"I'm so glad you approve."

And though it was dark, Robin could almost feel the vague, sad smile spreading on the face so near to his.

"I know."


	3. Kingdom

The last one before the lethargy set in, the letter K for **_Kingdom_**_. _Again with the MIA proper nouns. Sigh, fret.

•

They don't ask him why the high rise apartment rises so high, and why his room has to be on at least a double-digit floor every time, or why it has to overlook so much of the city, whichever city, he's in. They don't ask why the windows are so large, every time, or why he spends so much time staring out of them.

And he isn't grateful, because he pretends there's no reason to ask. Acknowledgment is the worst sin. And after all of his other sins, that still isn't one he's willing to commit. The costs are too dire for everyone involved. He isn't willing to gamble if he knows he's just going to loose, and he doesn't know how to load these dice.

But he has windows. Even the dealership has windows.

Though, occasionally, some neophyte to his attentions will ask about the view, not knowing his steady affinity for heights has been growing over the millenia.

He replies that, this way, he can see his kingdom, be it Chelsea or Islington or Shinjukuu or La Défense, he can survey all of it.

It's his. And, owning all of it, he's at the center of his ownership, the zenith of his own power and control, dependent upon none and worrying no one with his antics. Seeing all of his kingdom, he cannot forget where he is, or who he owes. And by never forgetting this, he can forget other things.

And then they do some forgetting together.

But his kingdom for a kingdom he can keep.

And, in the morning when his new toy has become old and has been properly kicked from his bed, after he's fixed his hair and fitted his shoes and before he leaves for the dealership-- that has windows-- he looks out his windows, again, and thinks. Surveying his kingdom, he answers the question completely, if only silently, and to himself.

Because if he's this high up, he's proving he can't fall.

And if he's falls, he's that much easier to catch.


End file.
